Ragnarok: Doom of the Gods
by sarbearofmidgard
Summary: Ragnarok. Here begins the twilight of the Gods. Now it is time for the God of Mischief to fulfill the prophecy as none other than Thanos' puppet. Destruction of Asgard will happen. Thor's heroic efforts to stop the collection of Infinity stones will be wasted. Loki and Sigyn's insecurities will be a mere drop in the stream of destruction. Chaos is coming. Ragnarok is here.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 _1064 years ago..._

Thrown on the skraged cliffs of Jotunheim, the palace of Laufey dies in the heart of a once breathing city. Everything is desolate.

War. Siege. What could ever wreak havoc on a realm, was stabbed most violently into Jotunheim.

The city is a bomb. It waits for the final attack that will crumble it. Or that will crown Jotunheim the victor in the Jotun-Asgardian war. For years it has waged. Of course, that doesn't mean Laufey and his fellow regents couldn't have some fun. What are wars for, after all?

Glacial stone is beneath her, in Laufey's prison. This small Asgardian lies quacking on what could possibly be her death bed. But instead of flowers covering her, there is only rough cloth. To see what savagery went on in the blackest corners of Laufey's kingdom, look beneath those rags. Burn marks. Not marks from heat, no. Burns from ice. Her skin is melting with them. In places you wouldn't imagine, she was touched and marked. These blisters of her suffering caused her stomach to be bigger with child.

The cell is a cage. The girl is a bird for them to watch flutter. They mock her captivity with a miniscule window. The cage of stone has worn from time and is riveted like her body. What is unusual, however, is the placement of some of these chips. They lead up to the window at the top…. Like footholds.

 _Boom._

The child awakens. Wisps of magic flit about her. Sound fills her ears like percussion. The Bifrost has landed. The final battle has begun.

She leaps off the stone, tearing the blanket from her frail body. The chipped wall must answer her needs. Hope and tears have nourished this wall. Her hands and feet claw at it. Slowly, the window comes closer.

The battle is waging. Frost Giants come out of stone dwellings, forming weapons out of ice in their hands. Frozen weapons tear apart the flesh of the Asgardian soldiers. Shiny armour and swords meet blue skin and ice as the two realms collide. The girl spots an Asgardian on a big white horse, leading the army deeper into Jotunheim.

The child realizes this is the opportunity she has been waiting for. Her captors would be busy and their play thing would be forgotten.

From the window to her escape is about twenty feet. Tears swell in her eyes. Wait. Just like her body, torn and broken, the blanket clenches her eye. The adolescent practically dives off the wall. The burn marks make every movement painful, but the moan's of her afflictors in battle is medicine enough . Grabbing the blanket, she makes it back to the window and ties it to a steel rod.

Her skirt dances around her legs as she falls. With a jolt, she lands.

Left: the Jotuns are fighting the Asgardians. Right: stone buildings. Which seems less threatening? Blue monsters, or ice flicked buildings full of the unknown?

The wind burns her ears. She left her blanket behind. _Curse Odin._ She tries to melt into the black walls. Nobody sees the child.

Frost kids and women hide in the stone. Clenching each other. Hovering in presentiment. Noise surrounds and presses the girl, but the palace kitchens are silent. You can only hear small wisps of snivels. Inside windows, she can see the innocent monsters. Another even younger, Asgardian girl seems to have a spotlight on her.

The escapee child calls to the other girl through the window. The Jotuns look up in terror. It's only a girl. The other Asgardian prisoner looks up. Her torture lied in serving the beasts by nourishing them. A noise presses through her lips. Running to the window, the slave scampers out of that black hole.

The two embrace, but the younger notices the playthings swollen stomach and looks up. Words are not needed. Meeting the sad eyes with her own, the older nods towards the Jotun mountains. They know what they need to do.

They begin running. Their hearts pulse to the mountains. Behind them, the battle is still in full tilt, reaching its climax. Why would they care? They are flying.

Suddenly, the older Asgardian stops, her eyes watering. On the ground is a puddle of what looks like water. Her water has broken.

Moans crowd the hard alleyway. It doesn't matter. The people killing behind them is louder than the life being born in front of them.

The first girl grips the youngling's hand and screams softly. The first contraction. Finally, the sighs occur when it ends. The tears freeze on her skin.

An eternity of crys crystalize all over the alleyway. When a crying baby comes kicking out of her body, the cries finally shatter. The new mother takes the baby from the slave's hands.

Red eyes like small beads stare into her soul. Does he see his mother's fear? Fear of having a child at so young an age? Fear of the child itself? This is the baby of her nightmare. That monster that scarred her, gave her this child of ice. The warm cradle of her arms is not enough to stop the freeze this baby can bring. All of this a reminder of being taken from her home and forced to bring a moment of pleasure to a frosty king.

A Frost Giant. Stumbling, like a walking carcass, he enters the alleyway. His eyes become a thin slash like his lips. The girl's' eyes widen, just like the giant mouth of the Giant as a growl tumbles through the air.

The present slaps the mother. She crumbles under the weight of herself. Horror strikes like lightning upon the youngling, and she grabs both mother and child.

"AhhHHHH," The child screams. A burn brushes her skin. The Frost Giant focuses on the older girl now.

"Where do you think your going," he asks maliciously.

Escape pulsates through her heart. No black holes to run through. No portals for the children to fly into.

The baby speaks her agony: A cry escapes his lips. The Frost Giant now notices the baby in her arms.

Suddenly the older grabs the younger's hand. Hands like claws, they run from the blue monstrosity. Another alley. This way, that way. Freedom is almost theirs. Suddenly the younger Midgardian trips on a rock. The mother falls. The baby falls. All hope just…. Falls.

The mother is shrouded in a world of black. Unseeing and unfeeling, she has escaped from the planet the only way possible: Unconsciousness.

A baby cries. Her eyes open, albeit squinted. Fog seems to cloud her vision. A blue apparition jerks toward some stone. It goes inside.

"Brunner," She whispers her anceint language.

Someone is grabbing her, pulling her away from her son. A weep escapes her mouth. "Come on!" The slave girl crys.

And they fly.

The temple that holds the blue child will soon be discovered. The best his mother can hope for, although, is that Laufey will find his son. But he will become a savage.

 _At least he will be alive._

There are things coming for this child. He will become a plaything like his mother. He will burn and be burned. He will be the fallen prince. A trickster. He is Loki of Jotunheim.


	2. Chapter 1- Thor's Agony

Chapter 1

Thor's Agony

 _One month ago….._

Underneath glistening Asgard, stands Odin's treasure vault. Where you would expect sewers and rats, there are the stones of the universe, power sources that could take out planets, and trophies from past wars.

In this room, walks a soldier. Purpose radiates from his being. He looks straight past two other Einherjar soldiers.

This Einherjar looks no different than any other: golden locks, golden armour. What lies behind his icy iris's, however, would melt fire into your skin.

He slows his pace. The Tesseract. It's magic slips through the air, curling and weaving its way into the guard's heart. A trance consumes his form.

His fingers just lightly brush the edges, a mere caress.

Cue the scene change.

Galaxy; a billion pigments. Blue transcends his view.

The guard turns. There, on a rocky throne, is the Mad Titan himself. Purple face, glinting armour, smirk; the most grandiose figure you could imagine

"Ah, Loki," he laughs, the sound malicious and deep. "There is no need to disguise yourself in front of me. I know you from the inside out."

Green mist clouds the guard. When it runs away into oblivion, a wide eyed man appears. One dressed in green and black leather; gold and silver armour.

Loki.

He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the shock is still evident on his face. Loki begins to speak, or stutter. Thanos cuts him off.

"You know why you're here, Loki. The first phase of the plan is complete. You now have in your possession both the Tesseract and my other Gauntlet." Thanos chuckles a bit. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You have all those around you fooled. Although," Loki's face is becoming more and more _passive_ at an alarming rate, "You did fail to bring me back the Infinity stone in the scepter I gave you, although I suppose you had no choice."

Purple swells before Loki, as Thanos rambles slowly up to him in the sea of blue galaxy. This Mad Titan, the white whale of the galaxy, has pinpointed him with his death black pupils. Loki tries not to cower.

"I want my stuff back," Thanos growls, right in Loki's face. "You need to stop delaying and bring me the Tesseract and Gauntlet. And I decided to make a _small_ change to the deal: I want to leave this rock and you're going to help me. If, _if_ , you don't do what I say," He pulls his mass even closer to Loki and his hands mock a choke hold, "I will make you wish you had died in that abyss. I will make you _wish_ you knew something as _sweet_ as pain." Thanos squares back up. "You know what you must do then?"

Loki refocuses. He had been staring into the abyss, slowly losing his soul again, more and more. Until, soon, Loki is sucked away. Now here is a puppet.

"Yes."

 _Present time….._

"HEIMDALL! HEIMDALL! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME HEIMDALL. OPEN THE BIFROST," yells Thor.

He pounds the rail of his balcony. The vast universe has no respect for the God of Thunder. It simple stares him in the eye, all the realms held in its hand.

Heimdall doesn't speak through the night: even more disrespect.

Dry anger courses through Thor's veins. His dream of the vision of Heimdall and other Asgardians dead still haunts him. It had made Thor feel sick; nauseous. The dead white pupils of the powerful made an oxymoron that will forever plague him.

It has become a regular occurrence: waking up in a cold sweat, then cursing Odin for caging him here on Alfheim. Ever since Thor left Midgard, instead of going to earth, Heimdall had sent him to Alfheim, home of the light elves. Their capital, Ljosalfar, has become his temporary shelter. King Freyr is the usual boisterous Light Elf. Oh so ready to show off his vast wealth: the mermaid lagoons, champagne springs, and orchards the size of oceans, and all surrounded by a magical forest. What a beautiful cage.

Thor needs to go. He has to tell the news: Asgard is in imminent danger. Despite being told this is a diplomatic mission, Thor's gut (and a God's gut is rarely wrong) growls that this is a blockade. Couldn't Odin let Thor up to Asgard for a short time? Instead, Odin has steadfastly refused to let him in. Munin, Odin's raven, was sent with the message to stay for a few more weeks.

After all that happened on earth, the tranquility of this realm is almost priceless. It seems degrading to shout what is vile here. Heimdall is useless. All this yelling is for not. Asgard will not accept it's savior.

The Thunder god dejectedly turns around and walks back into his room. Water drips like tears down his face. They slowly descend back into the bowl on the dresser. Not much of a refreshing cleanse. Oh so very telling, though.

With his long, blond hair tangling on the pillow, Thor tries to fall back asleep. But it's no use. Thor lays awake the entire night. His furiosity at Odin and Heimdall is barely subsided by dawn. The thought of facing another day of meeting and greeting elves doesn't help.

Thor straps his identity onto him. While you could see it as metal and fabric, isn't that what heroes have becomes to the people? Thor's title is now what he must be. He leaves the forsaken room.

The hall he walks is made of stone. Vines slither up the moist walls. The stone is crumbling slightly and patches of sunlight come in through them. It's simply more of the ethereal beauty this cage throws at Thor.

A Light Elf girl comes from an alcove off the side. Thor nods his head to her and she gives him a dazzling smile. He looks not at her again.

Even though the light elves are some of the most beautiful creatures in existence, Thor is not won over by their charms. Ever since Jane called their relationship off, Thor had become numb to other women. It's not that he was surprised. Their love had metamorphosed into a tolerance; strained. Thor had to keep up his title and protect the realms; Jane couldn't share her love of science with him. Their temporary love wilted. A mark was forever left on Thor's heart. Whenever he sees a beautiful woman smile or giggle, or even speak, it reminds him of Jane. Now he blurs their faces; numbs what could stab him again.

The throne room unfolds before him in magnificent spirals and columns of marble. The dining room is right past. Thor's loud footsteps alert the people in the room to his presence. Elf's robes float in the wind, full of rich colors, and swarm the room with vibrancy. Harsh gold metal stands apart from the fluttering. The man turns. Fandral calls out brightly, "Thor!"

"Fandral!" Thor clasps his friend on the back. "What are you doing here?"

"Odin sent me down to calm you, my dear fellow! Heimdall reported you shouting obscenities at him, and I knew that was unlike the Thor I know, so I volunteered. This beautiful lady right here," Fandral wraps his arm around the waist of a young, beautiful elf, "Was telling me there is a lovely trail that goes through the forest to a champagne spring, which I just have to see. I thought we could talk of news of Asgard as we ride. How does that sound?"

Thor is obviously enthused with the idea of getting away from the palace. Perhaps Fandral will know more of Odin's workings in Asgard. So the dynamic duo heads out.

The horses breaths are gentle, adding more warm air to the atmosphere. Pebbles smack beneath their hooves. The path is like a tail, waving from the back of the palace to the forest behind. Small white puffs sprinkle the sky. The terrain is more welcome than parts of Alfheim that contain ice and snow, a large part of why the capital is so populated.

"Fandral, what news of Asgard?" Thor cannot even wait until the trail creeps into the forest.

"Nothing big, my dear chap. No new wars or rebellions. Everything is peaceful in the golden city, as well as the nine realms. Although…."

"What Fandral?" Thor's forehead becomes crinkled in concern.

"I do not mean to alarm you Thor," He shifts slightly in his saddle. "But the Allfather is, I don't know quite how to put this, acting queer. Ever since Loki's death, he hasn't been the same. It's possibly the overwhelming grief of losing both Frigga and Loki, but he is very unusual. The Allfather disappears for an hour, only eats breakfast in his room, unlike his normal breakfast with his generals, and he pounces at the slightest offence."

Thor's face is descending into confusion. He has no ascendancy over this situation. His father is being engrossed in an abnormal grief. He is helpless is rescue him.

Fandral is staring piercing pressure to deliver this news to Thor has weighed upon him. Now, it is like a dull ache is slowly pressing his back into a hunch beyond his years. Fandral must carry on.

"For any crime committed, Odin immediately sends them to the prison underneath the palace. And, this is most strange: Odin has built a separate prison." Confusion washes over Fandral's handsome features. "Only a few guards are there, probably two, and it is quite a ways from the palace. Odin sends only a few prisoners there, mostly magic users or creatures that have magical properties, claiming that the prisons under the palace are not strong enough. You know, after what happened with Kurse." Fandral tries to skimp over the touchy subject.

The trees whisper. The trickle and soft cascade of a waterfall tickles Thor's ears. Vines cuddle the trees. Shafts of sun dance through the air. Thor takes a deep inhale.

"Again, Thor, I don't want to worry you but I felt you should know," Fandral says after seeing Thor's attempts at calm.

"No, thank you Fandral. It is better me knowing, although this is indeed troubling. Even more so, for my father will not let me comfort him. Odin has always been a prideful man. I suppose this is why he has left me on Alfheim. He doesn't want for me to see him grieving." Thor tries to use this explanation to make sense of his father's behaviour, but something just doesn't fit; a missing piece.

"I think you are right Thor. We must help him! The Allfather needs you." Fandral's teeth seem to shine as his face breaks out into a grin. Gesticulating around him, Fandral proclaims exuberantly, "I will go straight to Asgard and convince Heimdall to open the Bifrost. We have convinced him to go against the Allfathers command before, surely we can do it again!"

Worlds turn and pivot before Thor's eyes. Nightmares pass his eyelids. His soul feels sick. Something about this situation is wrong. Thor must get back to Asgard, but he can't trust anyone there. Heimdall has been a faithful servant of Asgard since Thor was a child. If Odin could be overtaken, though, anyone could be. Thor can't look past Heimdall's dead eyes in his vision...

He says deeply and quietly, "Perhaps it would not be wise."

"Why ever not?!"

"The Infinity stones."

Fandral raises an eyebrow.

The wind dances over Thor's face. A long strand of hair flows across his face. It reflects his restless spirit.

"When I was down on Midgard, The Avengers and I faced a formidable foe: a metal man named Ultron. One of his old allies, now ours, used her powers to distract us; she gave us visions. I saw all Asgardians dead. Heimdall's eyes," Thor lowers his voice even more, "Were blank; he couldn't see. I needed to know what doom had befallen him. I went to the Water of Sight on Midgard. The spirits accepted me and I was allowed to reenter my dream. Extinction was Asgard's fate.

"It was all caused by the greatest powers in the universe: Infinity stones. Capable of destroying whole planets, and someone is planning to unleash them. They are playing a game right behind our heads." Thor's eyes are cold.

He meets Fandral's gaze. This is cataclysmic. The condemnation of Asgard is intimate.

"I believe we might want to skip the champagne springs, then," says Fandral.

Ardous breathing and the palpitating hooves of the horses fill their ears. Thor and Fandral cannot save the realms in a matter of minutes. The speed of the horses will change nothing. Nonetheless, every second is shrouded with urgency. One minute wasted is de trop.

Fandral and Thor emerge from the forest. Hysteria. Panic is pummeled into their brains in feral yells. The two kick their horses, urging them to go as fast as possible. The palace nears. Then they are in front of the stable.

An elf man calls out to the stable boys, frantically, "The Dark Elves have returned!"


	3. Chapter 2- The Dark Innocents

Chapter 2

The Dark Innocents

It's black eyes gaze into the yellow, fading sky. All is still. The animal is suspended in the forest. The trees barely speak. The wind delicately dances through the feather like leaves.

I have to be quick. My foot snaps a branch. The animal leaps away, but my plasma gun scorches it. Light fabric over the dead leaves makes a crescendo of whimpers as I walk to the beast. It's heart is now as black as it's eyes.

It was stupid for me to come out alone. The beast is so large, it will take every part of my being to lug it back to camp. I haven't eaten in days. You don't know true desperation until you have slowly felt the life leaving you. My muscles crack. My stomach is melted into my chest, only to bubble back up by incessant acheing.

I can do it for my people, though. A soul is a meager amount to pay. If I am allowed to play God for a moment, bring life to the children, it will be worth it.

So I drag it back. I pick a tree, and pull the beast past it; one goal at a time. The clearing nears. Puddles are a melting pot of colors, shimmering off the sky. Soon, cries of joy fill my ears in the most rewarding oxymoron. Giggling elven children are delighted with the dead animal. The women immediately start flaying it with their knives.

The blood spurts. The children lap it up. It's too primal and pitiable for me to watch. Instead, a solitary fire beckons. A child, with blood staining his white teeth, brings me water in a broken piece of metal. He says, before scrambling back to the cooking meat, "Thank you so much, Sigyn." Before he wisps away, I gently brush his tiny braid.

I try to calm myself. I feel nauseated. Constantly, I find myself putting my head between my knees in private. But it's moral sickness.

For weeks we have been stranded in the woods of Vanaheim. Although the forest is huge, the wildlife is scarce and hard to come by. We don't know which of the plants here are edible. That leaves out greens as a food option. Most days we don't find hardly anything, so, if you're lucky, all you get is a small handful of meat or meat in water; a poor substitute for stew.

Most of us are women and children, a few older men, and about four soldiers. I won't risk the children hunting or using guns, and the women's' inexperience would be more trouble than help. Thus, the job of hunting is left to me and the few able men.

We went in pairs; two and two. Since there is an uneven number of hunters, I volunteered to go on my own. I hate myself for it, but I know I am the only one who can surely survive. It's not that I'm strong or a skilled fighter, but I know magic. Millennia ago, an old sorcerer taught me. Now it is the only thing protecting us.

 _Breathe, Sigyn. Breathe._

The warmth of the pulls me up. I can feel it's whispers. The cloak is still there; we are invisible.

 _They won't past the line of visibility. It's ok._

The Vanir could, though. What if they find us? Will they kill us? The obscurity spell has to be enough. There is nothing else I can do. If we get desperate enough to look for help from the people of Vanaheim, they will surely kill us.

I instilled into the children that they must stay away from the edge. To see their terrified faces were a reflection of that day. Everyone was delirious when they boarded the ship. Black swathed the battlefield that day. Malekith was ruthless. I barely got my elves into the ship. All the others were sent crashing into the ground. That was the day my brother Malekith truly terrified me.

For thousands of years our ship circled Yggdrasil. When we awoke, I knew it was because the Aether had been found. Malekith had always been obsessed with it's power. Literally and figuratively. When I awoke, I knew it was the first thing he would be after. No doubt my brother went to desperate attempts to get it. Considering Vanaheim isn't plunged into eternal darkness, though, makes me think he lost whatever battle was fought to retrieve it.

Animosity must be growing like a pathogen in the Vanahinian hearts. They would kill us without a second thought. We are piteously alone.

Our men return with no meat. Our skin is slowly drowning further and further into us. Soon there may be no other choice but blind hope in others biases. Doom may as well be inscribed upon our foreheads.

The palette of Vanaheim spreads out again with the sun; pinks, blues, and reds are swiped with the beauty only a master painter could hope to reproduce. I sit on a log, eating my small, very small, portion of meat. Lili, the nicest Dark Elf ever, comes and sits by me.

"How are you Sigyn?" She asks motherly.

"Hungry. What about you Lili?"

"The very same. That animal you brought in today certainly helped though." I can tell she is trying to comfort me. Lili's creasing eyebrows and concerned smile tells all.

"Not enough," I say gloomily. "Sooner or later, we're going to be too weak to hunt. Then I don't know. I don't want my people to starve." My throat tightens. I wish it would stay that way so i never have to eat the food that should go into the children's' mouths.

"Sigyn, you are doing more for us then we could ever ask," Lily puts her warm fingers around mine. "When Malekith started sending those ships down, everyone here and I thought we were going to die. You saved us. Perhaps we won't make it, but there is nothing you can do. It's up to fate now. And," she says with a smile, squeezing my hand gently, "Maybe life will turn out better than it ever was before."

I look into her deep, golden eyes. Maybe Lili is right, but this is becoming too much for me, and I don't want to start crying in front of her. You know how you can make laughter sound like crying? I do the reverse. "Thank you Lily, you might be right! Who knows?"

She smiles and removes her hand from mine, saying gently, "Keep your head up Sigyn. Have a good night."

"You too."

The sun has almost fully exchanged places with the moon. I shove the last morsel of meat into my mouth, and shout, "Let's head to the ship everyone!"

Elves slowly stand up, some licking their hands to get the last bit of food off. The last rays of light cast the large t-shaped spaceship into blackness. It had run out of power and is now laying on it's side, propped up by one of the legs of the T. The power shortage, although there is just enough to power to work a few inside functions, is why we are stuck in Vanaheim instead of Svartalfheim.

Mother's gather their children into their arms, pulling them into the box with them. The elevator into the ship now propels sideways and travels horizontally. They pile in the conveyer and ride in a glowing red line; the mechanisms opening and closing like claws as it goes. What little power remains is used for that purpose. I still make them go in the craft at night. We are defenseless if attacked on the ground.

All elves are in the ship. The darkness hugs me, reminding me of home. It was never happy, but it was familiar. I lay at entrance to the lift, and lean my head back against it. The craft sings a mechanical lullaby. The sound consumes my dreams.

Sharp pricks of noise puncture the soft hum of the ship. The yells in my dream metamorphose into reality. The Vanir have arrived.

My heart pumps rapidly. Nobody can help me is on the ship. I could use up what last fuel we have, and fly us to a different part of the forest. But the Vanir would see. I have no choice but to hope they will have pity. The magic I could use will not feed us, but I may have no choice but to stop them.

My feet crunch leaves, after i swiftly across the field into the forest beyond. Then I see them. Their small lights dance like artificial shafts of sun through the trees. A Venir shouts, "Of course there are no bilgesnipe out here! Only harmless viliga and yuam!" I can't see the man.

 _What are they doing here at night? Taking a walk?_

"Well thank the gods, I definitely don't want to battle any bilgesnipe today. Hunting is supposed to be fun, not get you killed," Another dark figure shedding light chuckles richly.

Hunting! Perhaps it is only the two of them. It would be easy enough to stop them if they decide to kill us instead of help. Although it's possible that there is more Vanir hunting around who are more quiet than this duo.

Well, it's not like I have any other choice.

I jump out from behind my tree. The two men, dressed in elegant leather, both jump and yelp like animals. With the reflexes that are required of hunting, they pull out swords. Neither of them seem keen to move, although. We seem to have frozen each other with our eyes, not to be released until one moves. I can imagine they are caught up on the fact I am an elf. How typical.

The first hunter is brave enough to step forward, and say, "Who are you, creature."

I clear my throat. "I am Sigyn, Malekith's sister, leader of the Dark Elves. We have been stranded here on your planet and need help. We are starving."

Helping us seems to be the furthest thing from their minds.

 _Is it that rediculous to help starving women and children? Curse you Malekith, what have you done?_

The first hunter whistles a signal. As soon as the air comes forth from his mouth, so does my own. It's like I've had my very soul grasped from me. "No!" I shout. But it's too late. I can hear the sounds of footsteps drumming, pounding the ground to pulverize us.

I look at them desperately. "Please, we don't mean any harm. I don't know what my brother has-" The second hunter cuts me off. Looks of revulsion are stamped onto their faces. "He killed queen Frigga and prince Loki, _Dark Elf_. How many more are you?"

The way he says Dark Elf does not add to my furiosity; in fact it almost makes me feel good. Adrenaline is pulsing through me, heat is rising in my veins. I direct all of it to my fingers, pointing them at the men. Like children spun playfully by their parents, the men are thrown into the air. Instead of disgust, they are now screeching horror. Other men bound into the clearing, but there is little they can do.

Throwing them into the trees, I can hear the crack of branches, proving to me they are probably dead, or badly injured. I stumble forward slightly. My chest is now transforming into a weight. I just killed two men.

It had to be done. But I who am I to say their lives are worth less then my peoples'? If they would just understand! I wouldn't have to hurt them if they would just go away and leave us alone. Or, better yet, help us!

The other hunters, about ten, are closing in on me. My calm and revengeful facade is liquefying into an ocean of dismay.

I try to think quickly. I can't just kill all of them. My conscientes already aches. I have to be creative; find a way to keep us safe without killing them. I begin to slowly back away.

 _A memory spell! No. Then I will have to drag them all the way to the border of the invisibility spell. And whose to say they won't walk back in? I could put them all in bubbles of magic and drift them to the edge of the spell,_ _ **then**_ _put the memory spell on them. No. They could still come back in. And to lift all ten of them would be to much._

Then it hits me. I rush past them all, through the forest, and yell at the top of my lungs, "Jigani, power the engines; grab the swords; prepare for war!"

I will have to fake it to make it.

The Vanir all chase after me, yelling to each other about an army. I have to be fast. I turn around and begin to run backwards. My hands form faces, twist reality to give birth to a fake army. Behind all the men, hundreds of apparitions of elves appear. When the Venir twist around, I almost laugh. The looks on their faces are priceless. Cries of dismay escape their mouths as my ghosts haunt them through the dark.

We near the edge of the obscurity spell. I stop short.

 _No, no, no, no, dear Odin, PLEASE no_.

Heading towards the border of my spell are five more Venir, and behind them in groups, are at least fifty more that I can see. The rest of the hunting party. They lie on the brink of the spell, unaware they are about to fall in.

I was going to lead these men far, far away then do a memory spell. But now there are too many of them. They might try to fight my apparition army. They would see it's a fake.

We are doomed.

I realize that if I leave the obscurity spell up it could mean more trouble for us, since knowing I had magic would surely be more of a reason to kill me and other elves. I let my fake army run back into the haunted forest.

The hunters who were once running, stare back incredulity. Then all their eyes land on me.

I begin to fold into myself, shoulders hunching, and trying to dissolve into a space where they can't touch us. Back home, in the dark. But I can't peel my eyes away. Blinding lights are thrown about, whistles- piercing shrieks- fill the air. What was once disconcerted, is now defined: I can see all of the men's features, eye color, hair color, expressions, with the clearest of ease. Slowly, the groups conglomerate, and become a wave before me.

 _Down to one knee, down to the other_. Simple commands. I must calm my brain. Tears are acidic to me now. _Hands above your head._

I have failed. My people will be taken; made slaves. Forced to live a life of torture because of my failures. They might not say it, but deep in my people's hearts, I was a disappointment.

I never was loved. And I won't complain. Not by Malekith or my father. Not by my people; respected, yes, grateful, yes, but that's not love. No friends to love me; Lili was the closest thing but even she only has a high regard for me. Not anymore, I'm sure.

As a few of the hunters take me to their village, where they have more men to round up the elves like cattle, I keep my head up. The Bifrost takes us all up to Asgard. Colors blind them, but all I see is red. Then, gold. I look straight ahead. Across the Rainbow bridge they walk us, a stampede that they mercilessly beat for no reason. Women fall to the ground, bloodied on the head, still clutching their children. The Realm Eternal: a place where people through putrid fruits and words and looks. I look them all in the eye.

Because I must confront who I am. If a failure is what I am, it is what I must embody. But failures aren't afraid: they attack you head on. I will harden my heart so that not even love can break it. To love is to lose. And I have lost all.

Forgive me, my elves, for what is to be a long road ahead.


	4. Chapter 3- Drifting

Chapter 3- Drifting

I am called into Asgard's throne room. Terror is engraved into my people's faces. The four guards and I loom through the hall; I float, they grind. Our shadows' bounce, reflecting on the ever changing outcomes in my mind.

Bor's son, Odin, could be as fierce as his predecessor. He could condemn us to a public execution. It could be imprisonment for life. Whatever the verdict, it will not be favorable.

Two Einherjar open the intricate doors and they groan just like I am inside. It's as if someone has taken a magnifying glass and zoomed in tightly onto one man: Odin. My spirit pulls my feet away, but the guard's throw me in front of his throne.

The cold gold hits my face, and I lay there for a second. My head pulses, crying out. The previous confidence that I had has now been shifted; I'm off beat.

When I can bring my face off the floor, humiliation floods me. The guard's are snickering. I've been brought down from my regality. Odin's ice cold eyes hit, and I pull back as if a blinding light has been shined in my eyes.

Before I can regain my composure, he speaks, spewing out his words.

"Elf, I have little sympathy for your kind. Your leader, Malekith, killed my wife and son, and brought ruin and chaos to my kingdom. If you wish for mercy, the only way to garner it would be to somehow convince me that you don't deserve my fury. Seeing as that is impossible, I'll give you one chance, thus not waste my time."

 _How can he be so heartless?_ Why does this shock me, though? My heart immediately chastises me. There is always a hidden person. _Always._ I must find that shadow, that hidden figure, and grab it; squeeze it's heart.

Odin lost his wife and son. I obviously didn't do it, but the guilt is probably taking over him; he wants someone to blame.

I need him to pity us. For him to realize we have lost things, too.

Well, here goes nothing.

I take a deep breath. "Allfather, I understand you must be pained from your losses." He coughs, and I bow out of my power a bit. "I have recently found out that my brother is dead. While nearly everything he did infuriated me, he was my brother all the same. Although my loss is not near as tender as yours, I understand your pain." I continue on, fast pace, trying to rid myself of empty sympathy.

"But please have mercy on us. I'm not sure if we deserve it, but the only reason we are here right now was to escape Malekith's tyranny. They are not him; they are innocents. Please realize that we never tried to go after the Aether, we tried to survive.

"I'm not sure if this plea is enough, but please spare my people."

My words settle around the room like ashes after a fire. Odin's menacing eyes try to grasp mine. I stare straight ahead, refusing to let a tear slip; a tear of passion. My throat is tight.

"Your people are still Malekith's people, no matter the circumstance." My insides are screaming. I want to rip free of this body. Go off to the woods and cry out for my life. Because dear God, why am I here?

"The small pity that is inside of me is only enough to not dole out death." Odin's voice is gruff, as if he is using an axe to cut a tree; cutting an entire forest of family trees. "You and your people will serve as slaves to the Asgardians and the palace. They will _not_ be allowed to have children with one another, for I won't have Dark Elves try to start an uprising against my people. Again."

My throat is still clenched. These words need to be released from my throat: "You would let an entire race die?" My voice is high; shrieking.

Odin visibly winces. Then he seems to go back into his haze of anger, and pounds his staff into the ground. Angrily, Odin declares, "I shall do what I feel is best for my kingdom, and these nine realms!"

I look to the sky, trying to vaporize my tears. It could be worse. But it's still a stab.

This was it, then. Eternal servitude. Fun fun.

With my luck, I am sentenced to the worst place in the Asgardian palace: the kitchens. Of course, after starving for a month, the kitchen seemed like a great place at first. I soon learn I was mistaken.

Many people in the palace= lots of mouths to feed. Not only that, but the Asgardians are constantly having feasts. The kitchen staff never stops cooking all day. We have to wake up before sunrise and don't stop until the last dish has been washed from supper.

The guard's had announced the verdict of Odin's judgement. Silence was the only thing that exuberated. Of course we were glad to not be sentenced to death, but was this alternative much better? At least in death we might have found some peace.

No sooner did they hear the news than they were torn away: children away from their mothers, vise versa, and the few men away from their wives. Guard's clamored and ripped through the hall, finding gruesome pleasure in the wails that bounced around the hall. The gold halls seemed to be wrap around us, then released when only a few of us women were left. I was numb. This is how it will be. I can't let my emotions bleed.

Lili and I were in this group. Immediately we were escorted down to the servants quarters. Although more plain than the main palace, they were still more grand than anything on Svartalfheim. A harried and plump women took over and we were taken to a large bathing room. There we were striped down and had buckets of either freezing cold or boiling hot water dumped on our heads.

It was embarrassing. Not only was I naked, but the looks from the women dumping liquids atop us, were of absolute repulsion. My previous thoughts of toughening up were melting away with the water. I wanted to run to my room and cry. Alone; away from all this pain that I could do nothing about.

Clothed, bathed, and our white hair tied back in cloth, us elves were sent to various parts of the palace to start our assigned jobs. A few were sent to cleaning the palace, but most are on kitchen duty.

A large Asgardian women, the head of the kitchen, immediately put us to work; no matter that it had been hours since we slept. I was sent to wash the dishes. Obviously.

The water was warm when I started. It periodically gets refreshed, and it scalds my hands. As I scrubbed, splashing the water all over myself, my whole body began to ache. I've never watched dishes before. I'm soon soaked. The head, Hlen, will not let me sit down. As the hours tick by, my emotions scald my insides. Soon, I'll scab over. But it's not happening fast enough.

The last pot is finally washed. Everyone has left the kitchen. The dinner was busy. Steam was pushed around the kitchen, and I stayed at the dishes the whole time, my load slowly growing. Hlen wouldn't let me leave like everyone.

I slowly trudge through the hall to my room. Lili is going into the room that we share. She gives me a passing and caring look, then walks inside. When I arrive she throws herself onto the bed, and when she looks up, I see the tears in her eyes. "This is horrible Sigyn! Me and Lyra had to clean the palace all day without break. When the guard's saw I was an elf, they spat at me! How are we going to do this for the rest of our lives?!"

The room is windowless and plain: a convincing cage. We are to spend the rest of our lives here. Locked up while they make use of us. All of this feels oddly familiar, and the sick feeling that is blooming in my stomach will soon spread like a weed. But Lili. Dear, sweet Lili needs my help. Her gentle spirit is being crushed by the vicious hatred of the Asgardians.

I go and sit on her bed, gently rubbing her back. "I know it's hard Lili. They just don't understand." I sigh. " Their queen and prince were killed by Malekith. When we fought them for eternal darkness we each saw different sides. They could not imagine living in a world of darkness, while we could not imagine a world full of light. There are always two sides to a story, but you only want to see your's." Lili's tears fall upon the sheets, and spread out into a blanket of sorrows; she will soon lay underneath them, rather than facing her reality. But she must let them out. We cannot keep things inside us long without them hurting us trying to break out. "Seeing past our differences is a hard thing. They don't see you for who you really are. They don't know you like we do: the sweet, gentle, and caring girl who wouldn't hurt a r _i_ u. Malekith and his horrors are all they see, not you. Please hold your head up and prove to them that you are different."

At this, Lily looks up and gives me a small smile. Her eyes are red, wishing they could cry blood. No words are needed to show her pain, but gratefulness.

I bury myself into my own bed. The fierce need for the same kind of comfort burbles inside me. Yes, my words were true and they consoled me to some extent. But what is that compared to understanding? Something I will never have.

Tears drop down my face. They most likely catch the candlelight, and sparkle like diamonds. They say that beauty comes from ugliness. And I can't help thinking of what Lili said yesterday evening: "Maybe life will turn out better than it ever was before."

Yeah, right.

I awake to the soft sound of Lily snoring. The candle was blown out. All is completely dark. Asgard is asleep.

Trying to fall back asleep proves to be impossible. My whole body is screaming to get up, but my mind says _no_. I just have too, though.

The feathers in my bed melt beneath my touch. Lili sleeps restlessly, but is not awoken by the squeaky kitchen is black. The steam and bustle of the day has been absorbed by the night. I grab an empty tray with a fancy golden lid, and head quietly up one of the stairways that is used to take food up to the central palace.

Although I meet no one on my way up, I am still cautious as I peek my head through the doorway. Nobody is there. This is one of the larger dining rooms used for big feasts. It's so _ginormous_. We never had anything near as grand on Svartalfheim.

The grandness of the room makes me want to swish and spin around, and I curl around the benches; swerving and dancing around them. The dress they gave me- a light blue one with a sloping neckline- makes me feel like a princess.

 _Oh, could you imagine being the princess of such a place?_

Torches form shadows along the walls, but nothing can stop the brightness of the gold. It is growing sickening. I feel more conspicuous. The tray helps; maybe it could be a royal midnight snack.

A few guards pass. My heart skips a beat. _Where am I going?_ I just needed to get out. I don't want a cage to hold me in forever.

I want to fly away as the birds do. I've read of them- birds- in books. They fly around with wings, like our ships, free to go wherever they please. They have children, and feed them until they can fly on their own. They share a call with their people. Even the ones that aren't similar, they all call to each other. They accept each other, yet allow them uniqueness. I've longed for many things in my life. The longing to be like a bird, free, is foremost. But something, or someone, created birds. If they cared enough about them, surely they may care about me?

I leave my crevice. I pass more guards, but thankfully they don't question my presence. The cap that I fell asleep in does not show my white hair. Thus, since my face is not that different, they do not know that I am an elf. My very being is a danger to my people.

I hear two people approaching, talking loudly. "There is no need to be worried about these Dark elves, Volstagg. There is plenty of guards in the palace to make sure no harm comes to your children. I will personally make sure of that. The Allfather has things under control."

I look around quickly but don't see a space to go. Too late. They round the corner.

"Thank you Sif. Now, tell me all about your happenings with this Kree!" A large bearded man shouts joyfully.

The women named Sif begins speaking, then quickly stops when she sees me. I try to ignore her intense gaze, but I begin to quiver slightly.

"Hold on now!" My heart leaps. The large man holds out a chicken sized arm to stop me. He laughs. "What's this you have?"

He stares hungrily at the tray. Oh, right. Thinking quickly as Volstagg eagerly opens the cover, I make an apparition of some greens I saw in the kitchen. His open mouth closes and, putting the lid back on, Volstagg straights his belt, clears his throat and says, "Hgm, uh, delicious. Hope whoever this is for enjoys their small feast. Please continue." He and the lady Sif walk on.

Well, that was close.

My walk carries on for a while without anymore interruptions, but nothing interests me.

 _Maybe I should go back…._

A glass door rimmed in gold radiates warmth; it beckons me. I don't even pay attention if anyone is inside. Thousands upon thousands of books rest inside, sleeping until you gently awaken them and ask for their knowledge. My body is possessed. I drift into the grand room. The smell of old books wanders into my nose.

The bookshelves are made from lacquered wood of the finest kind. This must be a side door, because all the shelves are in lines in front of me. At the front an old man is sleeping with some tea in his hand.

Stair cases lead up to more books, making a maze of sorts. Right next to me are steps and I head up.

Colors are stacked against each other, forming a rich palate. I run my fingers delicately across them. I had learned to read Asgardian during the war, and now use that to read the titles. The _History of Niflheim -The World of Fog and Mist. Bilgesnipe- How to Eat Them and Avoid Being Eaten. The Hunger Games._ I just want to grab one off the shelves and absorb myself within it. I want to run away with one, and into one of the books world's; escape the cruel reality I am painted into now.

Svartalfheim only had a few books; education was a foreign idea to us. I read all we had. Now I have so many before me. I stop suddenly at one particular book; I can sense the magic emanating off it.

Gently, I take the book and slide it out. It's beautiful. The book itself is magical. Words on the page undulate, and the scrolls, spirals, and swirls come off the page and dance in soft, curling movements. I have to read it.

But I feel too vulnerable right on the walkway. If someone were to find me, they might think I was trying to steal the book.

I spot a veranda. Perfect.

A torch bounces off the door and reflects my face as I open it. It's as if someone from a parallel world is escaping as well. But when the door flips, a guard fills my image's place.

My heart freezes over when his cool eyes penetrate me. More light has flooded his mezzanine and I must look like a bilge caught in the lantern light. We both remain immobile, caught inside our mistakes.

But he is caught within a trap of sadness as well. That veil that lays over us when in grieving is evident on him. Tears lay in his eyes. I feel as if he has wrapped the veil around me, too. Sadness weaves it's way inside me immediately.

We have both been compromised. Technically, he shouldn't be here either. I begin to slowly back away, but he does too. A collision occurs. I drop the book. He picks it up. We both stare again.

Without saying a word, he tears his eyes away and looks at the book. It's as if he's seen a ghost.

"You know magic?"

My first instinct is to run as soon as he speaks. But that wouldn't be wise. So instead, I lie. "No, I just thought the book was beautiful."

"It is." He scans my face. His voice is rich and creamy, yet questioning in every syllable. "Well, sit down if you like. I can't report you, otherwise I myself would get in trouble."

"Thank you," I respond. His eyes remain upon me. Everyone on Asgard must know of the elves coming to work in the castle. No doubt he is wondering if I am one.

It's awkward with him looking at me, but the book is calling my name. Colors and sparks burst out when I open it. A floating animation unfolds before me, and levitates above the paper. The title of the book- _Spells and Incantations-_ is practically bursting from the page.

I gasp. After the title, the first illustration is of a young woman falling asleep. A comatose spell. The picture itself shows the movement of the girl awake and then asleep.

I'm so mesmerized by the book, that when the Einherjar guard speaks, I'm once again surprised by his presence. I thought he had left the veranda. "You should look at this page," he says. He's been looking over my shoulder.

The guard flips the pages and lands on one with a dragon on it. It breathes pretend fire onto my face, which soon dissipates into the midnight sky. I smile and look to see what the spell is: _How to Make a Dragon_

The Einherjars presence presses upon me. I uncomfortably move to the side, so he may better see the book. He continues flipping pages. I must find a way to leave this. But how? I'm trapped.

"You've read this book before?" I say, hoping to probe some information out of him. When I first saw him on the veranda he seemed very distressed. I can either make him trust me, or make him so galled that he will leave.

"When I was younger, yes. Although, it has been a great deal of time since I have last seen it."

"You often come to the library?"

This question dissolves the memories on the tips of his pupils. "Perhaps."

That's not an answer.

"You don't know if you come to this library often? Does someone occasionally possess your body and come here without your knowledge?" I scoff.

He assumes a miffed attitude. "Yes, I come to this library fairly often, but I don't like telling random servants everything about my personal life."

"You're not much better than a servant yourself. You're a _guard._ "

Angrily, he says, "I'm no guard, I'm the-" but quickly stops himself.

Instead, he grabs the book from my hands and states, "You shouldn't be taking books like these from the shelves. Go back to your chambers."

It seems I have upset him. Oh well.

"If I wish to stay here, I can! You can't force me to leave, you will get punished for being here, too."

"I could tell them you were doing something else horrible, and make your life miserable." the Einherjar replies snarkily.

"My life is already miserable so good luck with that!" I snap. "Why do you think I'm out here? Isn't that why you're here? Life wants to bash us down over and _over_." Tears well, and my voice cracks. "That's why I'm out here, because I couldn't stand it anymore. These books hold more of a life than we will ever have."

I fall into my seat, practically curling into it. The guard's face is passive. But I can see the fireworks back in his eyes. He reaches forward and takes the cap off my head. Underneath is my white hair that falls like snow around my face.

He stares at me. Just stares.

"I understand. Meet me here tomorrow night." And with that, he disappears into the light of the library. The bookshelves break apart, and slowly shroud him in their wood until he is beyond my vision.

First night here and I already have a date.


End file.
